The Cathedral Murders

By J.E. Morales

In 1992, Peru is in the middle of an internal war against the communist guerrilla group Shining Path. In this turbulent environment, medical student Isabella Castle witnesses hospital patients dying under mysterious circumstances. As she navigates the prejudiced traditional system and battles her own internal struggles, the search for truth leads her down an unexpected path. She will soon discover that antagonistic forces inside the government and the ecclesiastical hierarchy are battling for power to hide a dark secret within the Church.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667893495

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The Cathedral Murders

©2023, J.E. Morales

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s.

ISBN: 978-1-66789-348-8

ISBN eBook: 978-1-66789-349-5

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1

Lima, 1991

Isabella would never forget that cold September morning when she encountered a dying person for the first time. Her day had started early with a clinical skills session at the hospital’s old amphitheater classroom, and as she walked through the medical ward, she saw the floor nurse and one of the interns attending a patient. They had just found the old man lying face down with no oxygen. He was very thin. His spine and ribs protruded against the skin. The two of them easily managed to turn him around. He was probably in his seventies and looked shockingly malnourished. He was unresponsive and didn’t appear to be doing any breathing movements. The nurse placed her three middle fingers over the right side of the neck, searching for the carotid artery. No pulse.

Call the Code Blue! she yelled. The young intern had already started pushing on the man’s chest, when a dozen nurses, residents and medical students arrived at the scene.

After several minutes of chest compressions, the patient remained pulseless.

Look at his color! said the most senior resident, pointing at the bluish appearance of his skin. I think he was already dead.

Everyone appeared to agree without actually saying anything.

Let’s go ahead and give one epi and do a couple of rounds of CPR for our students to practice, and then we’ll call it.

There were no objections on anybody’s mind.

Isabella leant forward to start doing compressions. There were not too many opportunities to practice CPR on a real human. That’s when she saw a tiny black cross painted over the right side of the chest.

2

Rome, May 1992

The church of Santa Maria della Pace is located below ground level at Villa Tevere, a five-story neo-baroque building home of the Opus Dei Headquarters in Rome. Bishop Juan Carlos Silvestri found his old friend and teacher standing in front of the tomb of the order’s founder, Josemaria Escriva. Over time, this church had become Silvestri’s personal Mecca of spiritual pilgrimage. It was so nice to be back in Rome, he thought. Although he had felt a strong desire to become a priest from an early age, it wasn’t really until the day he met Father Josef Andriso and joined Opus Dei, when he finally knew he had found his calling in life. For good or for bad, he also knew that he was going to be part of a major event in the order’s history.

It’s very nice to see you, Juan Carlos. It’s been a long time.

Father Andriso! I’m so happy to be here! Silvestri said, unable to hide the involuntary twitching of his lower lip. He was wearing the traditional white clerical collar and all-black dress shirt and pants and had a carry-on suitcase with him.

How was your flight?

Long but fortunately uneventful.

I’m glad to hear that. I’m so sorry about the short notice. I know you have a busy schedule.

We do have a problem on our hands that we need to deal with as soon as possible.

The old priest nodded.

Silvestri stood there for a moment looking around the chapel with a grin. And I don’t mind being back to this place. It’s so wonderful. I missed it so much.

I know, my son. Let’s take your suitcase to your room and then let’s go have something to eat.

I can’t wait to have an Italian espresso.

How could I forget your love for coffee? Father Andriso said with a smile. Let’s hurry. We have a lot to talk about.

Are we going to meet with him?

Yes, the Cardinal will be waiting for us this evening.

3

Lima. June 26, 1992

The unbearable coldness inside the classroom was the only thing preventing Guillermo Arenas from falling asleep. He had stayed up most of the night on call with the surgery team, rounded on the hospital patients in the morning and, later that afternoon, taken a twenty-minute bus ride to the medical school to attend a two-hour clinical pathology session. He was happy the day was almost over.

Hey, can you give me a ride home? he asked his friend Mario as they were leaving the classroom.

I’m sorry, my friend, I’m actually going to Annie ’s house. You know, the opposite direction.

It’s okay. Thank you anyway. Since Mario started dating this new girl, he had to take the bus home more often than he would wish. Public transportation during rush hour in Lima was not for the faint of heart. It’s gonna take me more than an hour to get home. I better go eat something before I leave.

The school cafeteria was not particularly famous for the quality of the food but it was the only thing available close by. As he walked inside, he noticed a group of students engaged in what appeared to be an animated exchange of ideas. He recognized the tall, slender guy that was clearly in charge. His name was Carlos Salazar and he was also an intern.

Hey Guillermo! he waved. Come and join us

Guillermo grabbed his sandwich and his bottle of Inca Kola and walked towards their table with some hesitation after realizing they were all part of the school Catholic group.

I hope I’m not interrupting.

Oh, not at all. Have a seat. We’re all tired. I thought that class was gonna last forever. Salazar’s tone was welcoming.

What are you guys doing?

Our group is having their quarterly meeting this Friday and we were just going over our numbers from this vaccination program that we’re helping with.

It’s actually quite remarkable that you have time to do some community service. Personally, I’m too tired to do anything else.

It’s really not a big deal, Carlos said humbly.

Guillermo wasn’t sure what to talk about. The students’ Catholic group had a strong presence on campus, always looking to recruit new members. Although he grew up in a very Catholic home, since the moment he got into medical school the religious aspect of his life had taken a secondary role. While he was not really interested in joining, he couldn’t avoid feeling somewhat guilty after learning how others could use their limited free time for the common good.

We are starting a new hospital rotation next week. I’m ready for a change. What about you? Guillermo tried to be friendly.

I’ll be doing surgery at Santa Maria. I heard it’s not too bad. And you?

Internal Medicine. Also Santa Maria Hospital.

I’ll see you around, then.

Guillermo finished his sandwich quickly. I guess I better get going, it’s gonna get dark soon.

Be safe, brother. You are welcome to join one of our group meetings at any time.

The ride home was slow and painful, as he expected. Guillermo’s family had moved to the upscale district of Miraflores more than a decade ago, and by now his Dad had probably given up on the idea of ever becoming a homeowner. The rent was not cheap, but the location, however, was ideal, only a few blocks from shopping, restaurants and close to major roads.

As they were getting closer to his stop, the traffic was heavier than ever. There must’ve been an accident, he thought. As he finally got off the bus and walked the few blocks from Arequipa Avenue to his building, he noticed an unusual increase of activity. Some of the streets had been closed and there was a large amount of police presence. He could hear the sirens of fire trucks and ambulances not far from where he was. The air was dusty, and there was an acrid smell all around. It appeared like most pedestrians were moving in the opposite direction to him, as if they were trying to get away. What is happening?

Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of fear overtook him, as he worried that something terrible could have happened to his family. He ran home as fast as he could, his heavy backpack bouncing up and down hitting his lower back. By the time he climbed the stairs up to the third floor, he was completely out of breath. His Mother opened the door. She had tears in her eyes. Inside the apartment, the living-room windows were broken. His father was picking up the small pieces of glass still on the floor. He got up and gave both a hug while saying It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.

What the fuck happened, Dad?

It was an explosion, a car bomb parked outside the International Bank just a few blocks from us. The blast waves from the terrorist attempt an hour later have shattered the windows of the three- bedroom apartment. The TV news is saying there are at least twenty people dead and many more wounded.

The damn terrorists, right? Are they attacking private businesses and killing civilians now?

Yes. Shining Path.

4

July 3, 1992

Police captain Raymundo Vidal stood next to a pool of blood, examining the scene and forcing himself not to throw up, as one of the officers was filling him in with the details. Rather short and with an unimposing frame, Vidal was wearing gray dress pants and a blue jacket. The detective badge that he carried around the neck said DINCOTE. The branch of the police in charge of anti-terrorist law enforcement. He walked a few steps inside the old modest house. It was early in the morning and still dark and chilly outside in the Barrios Altos neighborhood of Lima. It has been exactly one week since the bombing of Miraflores. The preliminary report stated that the home was hosting a neighborhood barbecue to collect funds for a community project. But one of the locals, Nemesio Quilca, was known to have connections with Shining Path; in fact it was thought that this gathering was just really a front for some of the terrorist support group leaders to meet. As expected, good food, beer and music were present and people were enjoying themselves until right before midnight, when five men dressed in dark clothes, their faces covered with ski masks and armed with military-style rifles, broke into the party. They ordered the attendees to lie on the floor and then proceeded to fire at them.

They’re a bunch of fucking cowards! the young officer said.

Vidal’s expressionless face did not change. Any survivors?

One totally unharmed older woman, who is the only witness we got right now, and three badly injured ones that have been taken to the hospital.

And Nemesio Quilca? Is he dead?

No. He’s a lucky bastard. He should be on his way to Santa Maria Hospital.

Nemesio Quilca has been shot. Captain Vidal had read his file. Very poor upbringings. His family moved to the capital from Huancavelica, a very neglected region of Peru. He was not able to finish school and had to work on the streets from an early age. He used to sell stolen auto parts in the informal market. But most recently had been approached by some of his neighbors to become a community leader. The evidence suggests he is part of the group that provides logistic support to Shining Path.

Let’s look around and see if we find any evidence of terrorist presence, he was telling his officer when a tall, dark man in an olive-green military uniform approached them.

Vidal, what are you doing here? The tone was not welcoming.

Vidal nodded without saying a word.

There is no reason for the DINCOTE to be here! Without looking upset, the man increased the volume of his voice just a notch.

Just checking things out, Rincon. No reason to be upset, he said calmly.

You better be careful what you get into, Vidal. The Doc is always watching!

The young police officer waited until the military man had walked away, and then he leaned closer to Vidal and whispered, Who was that?

Captain Milciades Rincon. He’s with Military Intelligence. He may also be one of the Frenchies’ main bosses.

The Frenchies? You mean the death squad?

Yes. The paramilitary group known for taking justice in their own hands. I want you to send a man to guard Nemesio Quilca the entire time he’s in the hospital. Whoever did this is probably going to come back and finish the job.

Excuse me for asking, but do you think the Frenchies are after Quilca in retaliation for the Miraflores bombing?

"I don’t know that for sure. But if that’s the case, the Frenchies may be looking for him right as we speak.

5

The man was already at home by the time his beeper went off. The voice that answered on the other line gave him specific instructions. He didn’t have a lot of time. Santa Maria Hospital.

He studied the place for a few minutes methodically, going through the checklist in his mind. It had been a crazy night in the ER. The doctors and nurses were very busy trying to keep the other two victims alive. Nobody would pay attention to another health care worker in a white lab coat.

He grabbed the chart for bed 2 and started reading as he walked towards the patient. Nemesio Quilca was lying on a stretcher in the corner of the observation area of the trauma emergency room. He was intubated and on a mechanical ventilator. One bullet had collapsed his left lung, requiring the placement of a chest tube. Another one had almost destroyed his left leg. The ER team was waiting for the vascular surgeon to come in and take him to the operating room for emergent surgery with hopes of saving his lower extremity. Despite the intravenous pain medications, Nemesio looked miserable—restless, his forehead covered with sweat. His face twisted in a gesture of extreme discomfort. His arms and legs were pulling on the restraints.

There is no reason for so much pain, he whispered to his ear.

Nemesio looked at him.

It’s time to rest, my brother.

Nemesio shook his head side to side with violence, his eyes wide open with fear.

The man put on his Sony Walkman headphones and pressed play. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he injected the lethal agent into the bloodstream.

I am the eggman, they are the eggman, I am the walrus.

6

It had now been more than two weeks since the Miraflores bombing. Other than a couple of bad dreams, Guillermo had practically forgotten about the incident. Sometimes he felt his brain suppressed those thoughts as a mechanism of survival. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep. In any case, today was Friday and the last day of the surgical rotation. It was time to go out and have a beer with friends.

The taxi dropped him off on Bolognesi Avenue across the street from the famous bar La Noche. He walked down the boulevard towards the main Plaza. It was cool and humid like more winter nights in Lima, but like every weekend the bohemian district of Barranco evolved into a creature with life of its own. He decided to stop by quickly to check on what in a previous life had been his favorite bar. He stood for a moment and looked around. The place had changed its name